Her eyes opened even wider, and she was very calm when she spoke. “Stephen, what in the world is wrong with you? I looked at the man as I would any man. I was curious because you talked of how slow he was, yet you seemed to think he had a lot of women.”
“Were you trying to add yourself to his stable?”
“You are being crude and insulting,” she said flatly. “And you are still hurting me.”
He didn’t release her. “Perhaps you wish the king had given you him for a husband, along with Roger Chatworth. If I can beat one, I can certainly beat the other.”
The statement was so childish that Bronwyn could do nothing except laugh. “That is an irrational statement. I did nothing but look at the man. If I smiled it was because I was thinking of something else. I will remind you again that I never wanted to come here in the first place.”
Suddenly all of Stephen’s anger left him, and he grabbed her to him in a bone-crushing embrace. “Don’t do that again,” he said fiercely.
She started to reply that she hadn’t done anything, but the way Stephen held her was almost comforting. Her arms hurt and she could feel the imprint of each of his fingers, but somehow she rather liked the idea that he was jealous of another man looking at her.
He held her away. “I almost wish you weren’t so damned pretty,” he whispered, then put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m hungry again. Let’s see if there’s anything left in the kitchen.”
Bronwyn felt especially close to Stephen as they went back to the kitchen. It was almost as if they were in love and not just physical lovers. The kitchen people grumbled that they were back again, but Stephen winked at the cook, and Bronwyn saw the fat old woman melt under his warm blue eyes. She had her own pang of jealousy and realized she wanted all of Stephen’s looks for her own.
They stood to one side for a moment, eating juicy apple-filled fried pies. “There’s too much waste in here,” Bronwyn said.
Stephen started to retort in defense of the English kitchen, but he’d been in Scotland too long. He’d lived with Kirsty’s parents, seen their poverty. Even in Larenston the people were frugal, always aware of the value of food and that tomorrow it might all be gone. “Aye, it is,” he said firmly. “We could use some of this food at home.”
Bronwyn looked up at him with great warmth. She reached up and moved a curl from off his neck. The long hair and deep tan suited him. She glanced across the room and saw a buxom young cook’s helper staring with interest at Stephen’s bare, muscular thigh, which was exposed as he put one leg on the seat of a chair. She grabbed his hand. “I’ve had enough of this place. Shall we go outside?”
Stephen agreed with her and left before he noticed the kitchen maid.
It was the storm that kept them from leaving Hugh’s estate. It came suddenly, raining violently. One minute the skies seemed to be clear, and the next there threatened to be a repeat of Noah’s flood.
Bronwyn begged Stephen not to stay. She told him a little rain never hurt a Scotswoman, but he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want to risk her to lung fever, not when he could possibly prevent it. So they prepared to spend the night at Hugh’s house.
The Great Hall floor was covered with straw pallets, ready for the many retainers and guests. Stephen tried to find a private corner but there was no such thing. When he was settled beside Bronwyn, he slipped his hand under her skirt and touched her knee. She hissed at him and told him in no uncertain terms that she’d not perform in such a public place. He sighed and eventually agreed with her. She snuggled next to him and was asleep in minutes.
But Stephen couldn’t sleep. He’d been in the open too long, and now all the walls seemed to be closing in on him. He shifted his position again and again, but the straw still felt too soft. Rab even growled at him once because he was so restless. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the beamed ceiling. He kept remembering the way Hugh had looked at Bronwyn. Damn the man! Hugh thought he could get any woman he wanted. No doubt he was encouraged by the way Meg had gone to him.
The more he thought about the trick Hugh had played on him, the angrier he became. In spite of Bronwyn’s warnings he knew he wanted to let Hugh know he’d been there.
He quietly slipped off the pallet, commanded Rab to stay with Bronwyn, and silently went toward the eastern door to the Great Hall.
As children he and his brothers had often visited the Lasco estate. One day, when they were very young, he and Hugh had discovered a secret passage leading upstairs. They were trembling with excitement when they reached the door at the top of the stairs. They were surprised to find the door well oiled and silent as they slipped into the room behind a heavy tapestry. They weren’t even sure where they were until they heard sounds coming from the bed. But it was too late then. Hugh’s grandfather was in bed with a very young housemaid, and both of them seemed to be having a marvelous time. The old man found no humor in looking up and seeing two seven-year-old boys watching him with wide-eyed interest. Stephen still winced when he remembered the beating Hugh’s grandfather gave them and the one he promised if they revealed their knowledge of the secret passage. Four years ago, when the old man died, Stephen cried at his funeral. He hoped he could pleasure young girls at the same age. Stephen laughed and was glad Bronwyn hadn’t heard that thought.
He slipped behind a screen in the anteroom off the Great Hall. He went to the window seat and took his knife and pried off the linen-fold paneling behind the cushions. It had been a particularly violent pillow fight that had knocked the panel away the first time so long ago. He had to stick his arm through an inch of cobwebs before he could even see the outline of the stone staircase. Once inside, he pulled the panel back into place.
It was black inside the stairwell, and tiny feet scurried back and forth. More cobwebs hit his face, and he wished he had his sword to clear them away. The passage had been in constant use and had been kept clean when Hugh’s grandfather was alive. Since Hugh lived alone, Stephen guessed he had no reason to hide his trysts from anyone.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with only a slight creak, but Stephen had no time to wonder at this. His eyes were used to the black stairwell, and so the room, lit by a single fat night candle, seemed to blaze with light. Stephen smiled at his extraordinary luck, for Hugh lay asleep on the bed. Stephen smiled at the quiet, unsuspecting man, then removed his knife from its sheath at his side.
Even as a child Hugh had a fear of being unguarded. There had been a kidnap attempt on him when he was only five. He’d said very little about it then or since, but he never went anywhere without a guard. To wake in the morning and find a knife beside his head would more than repay him for the girl he’d taken from Stephen.
Stephen wrapped a bit of plaid around the hilt, then attached the MacArran cockade. Silently he placed the knife beside his friend. Grinning broadly, he turned toward the tapestry and the secret door.
“Seize him!” Hugh’s deep voice rang out.
Four men jumped from the dark corners of the room and ran at Stephen. He ducked the first one, and his fist slammed into the face of the second. The man staggered backward. Stephen’s reactions were faster than those of the other two men. He was at the door before he felt the tip of Hugh’s sword on the back of his neck.
“Well done!” Hugh said with admiration. “I can see you didn’t neglect your training in Scotland.” He drew back his sword so Stephen could turn around.
Hugh was fully dressed. He held the sword at Stephen’s throat, motioned his guards to surround his friend, then picked up the knife on his pillow. “MacArran, isn’t it?” He tossed the knife in his left hand. “It’s good to see you again, Stephen.”
Stephen grinned broadly. “Damn you! How did you know?”
“Gavin came by a couple of days ago and said he was expecting you. He’d heard some tale of your getting into trouble in Scotland, and he was beginning to worry. He thought perhaps you’d stop here first.”
Stephen shook his head. “Be
trayed by my own brother.” He looked up in surprise. “But even expecting me, how…?” He knew he looked quite different from the English Stephen he had been.
Hugh smiled, his eyes lighting warmly. “One of the songs you sang was one we learned together in the Lowlands, remember? How could you forget the time it took us to learn that chord?”
“Of course!” Stephen said, realizing he’d been overconfident in his disguise. “Bronwyn said it’d never work, that I’d give myself away.”
“I must say that that accent of yours is well done, but you can drop it now.”
“Accent?” Stephen asked, genuinely bewildered. “I stopped using the accent when we left the MacGregor’s land.”
Hugh laughed deeply. “Stephen, you really have become a Scot. Tell me what happened in Scotland. Did you marry that awful woman? What was she, the laird of some clan? And who was that delicious creature who kept staring at you with such lust while you played?”
Stephen frowned. “She is Bronwyn,” he said flatly.
“Bronwyn? A Welsh name, isn’t it? Did you find her in Scotland? And how did you escape your wife?”
“Bronwyn is the laird of Clan MacArran, and she is my wife.” Stephen was very stiff, his lips hardly moving as he spoke.
Hugh’s mouth dropped open. “You mean that blue-eyed angel is the chief of some clan, and you have the good fortune to be married to her?”
Stephen didn’t answer but glared at Hugh. Why was he still standing surrounded by guards? “What’s going on here?” he asked quietly.
Hugh smiled, his dark eyes sparkling. “Nothing at all. Just a little game, like the one you wanted to play on me.” He rubbed the knife between his fingers. “Bronwyn, is it?” he asked quietly. He had lowered his sword point but it was still at the ready. “Remember when we first heard the news? You kept groaning and saying you wouldn’t marry such an ugly woman. You wanted…what was her name? Elizabeth?”
“Margaret,” Stephen snapped. “Hugh, I don’t know what you have in mind, but—”
“I have in mind exactly what I had before.”
Stephen stared at him, remembering all too well seeing Meg and him in bed together. The idea that he’d even touch Bronwyn…“You touch her and I’ll kill you,” he said in deadly earnest.
Hugh blinked in surprise. “You almost sound serious.”
“I am more than serious.”
Hugh smiled. “But we’re friends. We’ve shared women before.”
“Bronwyn is my wife!” Stephen shouted before he lunged at Hugh.
All four of the guards were on him at once, but even they couldn’t hold him. Hugh moved away as quickly as he could, but Stephen still came for him. The chamber door suddenly flew open, and three more guards entered and seized Stephen.
“Take him to the tower room,” Hugh said, looking at his friend in admiration, the seven guards holding him.
“Don’t do it!” Stephen warned even as he was being dragged from the room.
“I won’t force her if that’s what you mean,” Hugh laughed. “All I want is one full day, and if I haven’t gotten her by then you’ll know you have a faithful wife.”
“Damn you!” Stephen cursed and made another lunge before he was forcibly pulled from the room.
Bronwyn stood before the long mirror and studied herself critically. It had taken over an hour to dress in the English gown. The skirt and sleeves were of a shimmering, muted orange brocade. Tied with ribbons at the shoulders, then drawn over her arms, was a small cloak of ermine. The skirt parted in front to show cinnamon velvet. The square neck was very low.
Her hair hung down her back in thick, fat curls with elf locks before her ears.
“You look lovely, my lady,” said the timid little maid behind her. “Sir Hugh has never had a lady here who was so pretty.”
Bronwyn looked at the woman and started to speak, but then she stopped. It hadn’t taken her long to learn how useless questions were in the Lasco household. This morning she’d had to restrain Rab from attacking Hugh as he came to her pallet in the Great Hall. For some reason Rab took an extraordinary dislike to the man.
Hugh embarked on a long explanation of Stephen’s absence before Bronwyn could ask a single question. When he’d finished his tale—that Stephen had gone to see to one of Hugh’s estates as a favor to his old friend—he stood back and smiled at Bronwyn with great confidence.
She began firing questions at him. Why had Stephen left without speaking to her? What business couldn’t Hugh handle on his own? How was Stephen more suited? If Hugh needed help, why didn’t he ask Stephen’s brothers earlier?
She watched as Hugh sputtered and seemed to trip over his words. He was looking at her oddly, sometimes not able to meet her forthright stare. After a moment he smiled, and she had the impression that an idea had just come to him. He began another story about how Stephen had wanted to prepare a surprise for her and he wanted Hugh to entertain her for the day.
Bronwyn closed her mouth on her questions. For now it would be better to act as if she believed Hugh’s obviously false words. She smiled sweetly at the man who was an inch or two shorter than she was. “A surprise!” she said in what she hoped was a girlish and innocent voice. “Oh, what do you think it could be?”
Hugh smiled at her in a benevolent way. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? But in the meantime I have some entertainment planned. Pavilions are being erected and bonfires lit.”
“Oh! How nice!” she said, clapping her hands together in childish glee and at the same time ordering Rab to keep away from the man’s throat.
Hugh led her upstairs to a clean, warm room where the brocade dress had been readied for her. The hem had been let down to accommodate her height. Bronwyn realized someone had worked on the dress all night. Hugh gave her one of his slow, seductive smiles just as he left the room, and Bronwyn had to work hard to give him the simpering little smile he seemed to expect in return.
Once alone, she ran to the window. On the grounds below carpenters worked quickly on a platform. There were six fires already lit and an enormous charcoal brazier set under an open canopy. She frowned in consternation. Why in the world would an Englishman plan an outdoor entertainment in December? Last night’s rain had turned to snow, and the ground was lightly powdered. From what she’d seen of the English, they were weak creatures who liked to stay indoors.
The maid came and helped her dress, but Bronwyn could get little information from her. She said Sir Hugh had been up all night ordering the day’s festivities. Bronwyn wondered if she was making too much of everything. Perhaps Stephen had been called away and Hugh merely wanted to honor his friend’s bride. But would Stephen leave her to prepare some sort of surprise for her? Stephen was too much of a realist. More likely, he’d make her help him with her own gift.
Before she could sort out her thoughts, Hugh came to the door. He looked at her in awe, his eyes slowly running the length of her. “You are magnificent,” he whispered. “Stephen is a very lucky man.”
She thanked him and took the arm he offered her as they descended the stairs.
“You must tell me all about this clan of yours,” he said, his eyes on her lips. “I imagine you were glad to get an English husband. Perhaps you can meet King Henry and thank him someday.”
Bronwyn nearly exploded with the force of her reaction. She thought Stephen’s vanity was the limit, but this man surpassed anything she’d ever imagined. “Oh, yes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Stephen has been very good to me, and we’ve learned so much from him.” She nearly choked as she thought how Stephen had changed but not her men.
“Of course,” Hugh smiled. “We English are superior fighters, and you Scots could learn a great deal.” He stopped. “I must apologize. I hadn’t meant to say such things. After all, you are, what is it? The laird of a clan.”
He said the words as if they were a token thrown to a beggar. She didn’t dare reply because if he said one more word, she would probably let Rab have
the worthless peacock. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed happily. “Isn’t that pretty?” she cried, referring to the gaily colored pavilion.
Hugh stopped, glanced briefly up at the walls of his house, then took her hand and kissed it. “Nothing is too good for you, nothing is too beautiful for you.”
She watched him with detached interest. When she’d first seen him, she thought his slow movements, his unusual mouth, were interesting, but now she found him rather tedious. For some reason he seemed to think, to assume, that she would like having her hand kissed by him.
She used all the control she could muster to keep from drawing away from him. Did all men consider themselves so appealing to women? She suddenly realized how little experience she’d had. The men of her clan never tried to touch her, probably out of fear of her father’s wrath. In England she’d only spent time with Roger Chatworth, who wanted to talk of his plans for her people. Stephen was the only man who’d ever touched her and, it would seem, the only man to whom she could respond. At least it felt that way, since Hugh Lasco’s touch made her want to pull away from him.
He seemed satisfied with her response, or lack of it, and led her to a gilded chair under the pavilion. Hugh clapped his hands once, and three jugglers appeared on the wooden platform before them. She gave a little smile to Hugh and pretended to watch the performers. But the truth was she was more interested in her surroundings. With each passing moment she grew more suspicious. Something was not quite right. Why were they being entertained outside?
Some dancing girls joined the jugglers, and Bronwyn could see that their shoulders were blue with cold. A raw wind began to blow in their faces. One of Hugh’s retainers suggested the pavilion be turned to block the wind. Hugh’s response was almost violent, refusing to turn the canvas another direction.
“You must pardon me, Sir Hugh,” Bronwyn said in her sweetest voice. She had to have time to look about his house. Perhaps she could find a clue to the mystery. Perhaps Stephen hadn’t really gone away.
“Oh, but you can’t leave yet. Here. I’ll have the fire made hotter. Or another brazier brought.”
Highland Velvet Page 21